Dance Tonight, and Tomorrow

In my dream everybody’s here
    and everyone lets go
of pain, affronting shame & blame,
    a miracle or so
            it seems,
        to dance as if in dreams,
            the same
        in daylight as in night--
Let’s dance together without fear
of being wrong, or right.

My occasional music prompt is up at Real Toads:


On Busting Through

your cloud tiers,
like a wedding dress,
all ruffles & chiffon,
showing a little leg,
& I thank you for that.

The ache
is manageable now.

Where before I bloated
with the weight
of all the absorbing,
now I’m lean
& mean to lift my skirts,
dance, inspired,
not in spite of you.

I’ll have cake,
toss handfuls of rice,
release myself--

To you, sincerely.

For Kerry’s prompt to the Real Toads: Conversation


Sailing for Searching's Sake

What if our days are better spent alone
than searching for that one partic’lar High?
The searching, seeking, wandering from home
that leads us out of atmosphere to Sky,
awaiting clouds? A perfect Rainbow roams
as far as eyes can see, to rectify
those years undone, so many songs unsung--
Our search for Self already has been won.

Outrageously late for Kerry’s prompt: The Yeats Octave


Sevenling (Life's Work, Strewn)

Penned pages torn,
discarded, scattered
across shorn lawn

where she wanders,
sighs lilac, shies
cracks for mother’s sake,

stuffs a fistful in her purse.

For Words Count With Mama Zen: Rule of Three


Let's This Poem Be

This poem is a crane
hoisting beams like backbones
offering a gentle swing
embraced in a sling
righting what's been wronged

This poem is a swimming raft
on glistening water
bob-beckoning like bed
steadying limbs
bearing weight of the dead

This poem is you
singing your song for me
your rock carrying my siren
like a womb
pre-born and as yet unbroken.

Inspired by Hannah Gosselin’s wonderful post: This Poem is a Hoe


The General Guy

Straighten up!
Act spry
when The General Guy
stops by!

Steel yourself
to compromise
with The General Guy.
Lower your eyes!

Last prize.
Wait! The General Guy
will tell you when
you’re gonna Die.


And Skunks Come Out at Night

Din of starry night
echoes down cricket-worn streets, 
reverberates dreams.


Fart Poem

You should write
more poems
about farts.

You have no
poems about farts!


You should say

Because flatulence
is the scientific name
for farts.

*Dedicated to my children. Happy now?


When I'm Gone

I’d imagine
you’d want to clear out the junk
from my side of the closet
and the litter of toiletries
from the bathroom.
It’s only practical.

I wonder
when you’d notice
my jar of coffee beans
in the cabinet next to the stove,
and how long you’d leave it there.
Maybe forever.


Delayed Gratification

After a season
of guts wrapped tight
against storms,
at the end of your stalk,
refusing opening
because when you do
everyone will notice
the sickly-sweet wonder of you,
now you can feel the sun,
but still you wait
for the ants
to help with your blooming.

For Grace’s prompt to the Real Toads: Making a Heart Out of Wild Plants


What My Wavelength Looks Like

The thing about light:
It blues, purples, violets
till you're in the dark.


A Kind of Atlas

Of days
when nothing works,
months reflecting mistakes
mapping years learning how to be